


“Just because you brought me lunch don’t make this a date, prick.”

by XxamoremortexX



Series: Eyes on Me [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl is awkward as hell, Flirting, Fluff, Jesus is a little shit, Kissing, M/M, Non-Apocalypse AU, and a cocky son of a bitch, and insecure, darus-Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6532480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxamoremortexX/pseuds/XxamoremortexX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long day at work and a visit from an annoying prick has Daryl thinking about what exactly he wants. Hell if he actually knew, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“Just because you brought me lunch don’t make this a date, prick.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who read the last bit and encouraged me to write more! I've been having a pretty hectic RL lately and seemed to have lost my love of this, but this ship is helping me to bring it back. Gonna try to make this into a little mini-series of Daryl and Jesus' awkward courtship. And because I can't write anything small for some reason, this is gonna be a bit long. So stick around if you'd like.

The week went by, but Daryl didn’t call Jesus. It wasn’t for lack of interest, though. He still had the note that the other man had slipped him, all crumbled now from the wear in the pocket of his jeans. For the first few days he had it, Daryl had seriously considered taking out his phone and dialing the number. He held back at first because, from all that he’d ever heard in these kinds of situations, calling right away seemed desperate. Daryl Dixon doesn’t beg for anything. The days began to build up, though, but he still didn’t make a move.

He tried, once, after the eighth day. Daryl had sat down on his favorite recliner—the one with the least tear in the fake leather—pulled out the note and his phone and even put dialed the number. His thumb had hovered over the send button for a long time. He just held the device in his hand and stared down dumbly at his screen, trying to will himself to actually make the call. Ten minutes passed before he finally put his phone down and walked away. He didn’t touch it for the rest of the night.

Another day went by and he tried again, but ended up with the same results. He ended up spending the majority of that night in his garage, where things made sense, working on Aaron’s bike. It was a favor that he was doing for his neighbor.

Aaron was a good guy, volunteered down at the community center in his spare time helping people find employment. After Merle died, Daryl lost most of his direction and source of income—his brother always had connections with people who needed odd jobs done, a nice side business to explain the cash he got from dealing. When Rick took him in to speak with the group, Aaron eventually found him, found out that he had mechanical experience and hooked him up with part time gig at Dale’s Body and Auto. It was good work—helped him make enough to keep the rent on his little house—and the old man who ran the shop seemed to tolerate him well enough. Told Daryl that there may be a full time position for him if he kept up the good work. As a thank you—for basically everything—Daryl promised to get Aaron’s Honda Nighthawk in working order again.

Working on the bike, shifting through all of the spare parts he had lying around in the garage, and the feeling of getting dirty building something with his bare hands always cleared Daryl’s head. Nothing in mattered in his garage, and no one bothered him while he was there. It was his own little world. 

So it bugged the hell out of him when thoughts of Jesus and his stupid smile kept finding him in his world. He had tried to focus on putting on the new exhaust, but an image of those blue eyes flashed through his mind and Daryl almost broke his thumb with his wrench. He ended up throwing the damn thing across the room before he stomped into the house to get his phone. This was fucking ridiculous. Daryl didn’t do this kind of obsessive shit. He wasn’t a damn teenage girl, nervous about calling her crush. He was a grown ass man, and he could make one damn phone call.

After he put the phone to his ear and heard the sound of the ringing, though, all of Daryl’s bravado instantly went away. His muscles froze and his mind went back to that night in the bathroom of the bar. Jesus smiling at him like he was something special, touching him all over, kissing him, making him pant and moan…Those eyes that looked at him, and for once, Daryl actually felt like he was seen. 

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end of the phone brought Daryl out of his thoughts. 

“Hello? Who is this?”

Daryl would swear up and down that he tried to say something, he really did. But when he opened his mouth, no words came out. Only a sound that Daryl had never made before in his life. The flight reflex kicked right in and he quickly hung up the phone, slamming it down on the coffee table. Not a minute passed before the sound of AC/DC’s “Hell’s Bells” began to play in the room and the screen of his phone lit up. The asshole had called him back. Daryl scrambled to turn off the phone before it could go to his voicemail.

Shit…He was fucking pathetic. 

He thought of Merle then, could practically hear his big brother laughing in his ear. Growing up, he’d always teased Daryl for being shy. He never found the courage to ask the other kids in his neighborhood if he could play, never had a single date in school, and only busted his first nut at seventeen when Merle kept pushing one of his gang’s old ladies at him at their Fourth of July barbeques. She was thirty, and she didn’t stick around long after the deed was done. Merle always told him that Daryl wouldn’t get shit done if Merle didn’t lead him by the hand.

Jackass was probably watching him now—from wherever his soul ended up—and laughing his ass off.

_“What’s wrong, Darlina? Creamin’ your panties over a phone call? All those years I spent tryin’ to make a man out of you, and now you gettin’ a wet pussy from a twink. Don’t know why you’re even botherin’. Ain’t no one gonna care about you, little brother. No one ever did but me, and no one else ever will.”_

Daryl growled and kicked the coffee table, knocking over three days’ worth of newspapers, the remote, and whatever else he had piled up there. It didn’t matter, he’d clean it up later. He needed to get out of that house, away from the bike and the phone and the picture of Merle and Daryl sitting on the end table—the two of them on their last hunting trip together, Daryl’s hair shorter, Merle’s face still intact and a ten point buck between them. Daryl grabbed the keys to his truck and stormed out the door, intent on going to the one place he always felt safe whenever he felt like this. 

Carol knew what it was like to love and depend on someone who made you feel worthless. She was the only one who could bring him back.

***

Three days later saw Daryl back at work in Dale’s shop. He’d spent two nights at Carol’s, trying to get his head clear. He hadn’t told her exactly what caused him to have a near breakdown, and she hadn’t asked too many questions. Daryl was more thankful for that than for the spare bedroom she had put him up in and the warm meals she made. The time away from his home had given him what he needed; an escape from everything and a way of calming his mind. He didn’t know why the hell he let things get to his head so much, especially something as stupid as a damn phone call. Daryl was better than that.

Back at work, he didn’t have to worry about thinking of anything at all. Dale had a full schedule set for him. Most were just small things; oil changes, tire rotations, an alignment, and a few car inspections. Little things that kept him busy and out of trouble. Daryl had most of it done by noon, though, and he got a little antsy, looking for something to keep him occupied. Like always, though, Dale seemed to somehow notice.

“Daryl,” the old man called him over. 

Daryl slammed the hood down on the Lexus he had been working on and looked over at the old man. Dale was an odd character for Daryl. He’d been running this shop for over forty years, with no plans to retire, though he never seemed to work on the cars himself anymore. He dressed for work every day in a pair of cargo pants, a white undershirt, some sort of God awful Hawaiian shirt, and—the thing Daryl hated the most—a floppy old bucket hat. The man always looked like he was planning to take off one day, go on a fishing trip and never come back. Daryl wouldn’t blame him if he did. Maybe if the old man took some time for himself, he’d stop trying to get into everyone else’s business.

“Something troubling you, son?”

“Nah,” Daryl shook his head. “What’s up?”

“You sure you’re alright? You haven’t said much all day.”

“Didn’t realize you were keepin’ count.”

Dale gave Daryl one of his signature looks. The one where his black and gray eyebrows would be pointed down in a diagonal angle, but his eyes were still somehow wide. The look, combined with the old man’s narrow nose, always reminded Daryl of some kind of bird. A very annoying, judgmental bird.

“You’ve really got to work on that anger, son.”

“Why don’t you take your advice and that stupid hat back to ‘On Golden Pond’ and let me get back to work?”

Dale’s look didn’t soften, but he didn’t look like he was about to get angry either. He was used to Daryl by this point. He knew that there would be times when working with the man would make him want to shoot him, but knew that his work was good enough to have them reach a comfortable level of indifference. At least, that’s how Daryl saw it anyway. He couldn’t read the old coot’s mind.

“If you’re done insulting me and my taste in fashion, I have a favor to ask?” He paused, waiting for Daryl to say something, but he kept his mouth shut. “I’ve got a special project I’ve been working on for a while now. Jim usually helps me out, but he can’t make it in today. Would you mind staying later today to help me out? You’ll be paid for the time, of course.”

Daryl thought it over for a minute before nodding. He could use the extra money. Aaron’s shit bike still had a few parts missing that he would need to order, not to mention rent would be due again soon. Plus, despite having a bit of rest at Carol’s place, he didn’t think he was ready to be home alone again just yet.

“Thank you.”

Dale turned and started walking away. Daryl didn’t follow after him. He was ready to turn back and finish his work on the Lexus, when he felt his phone vibrating in the breast pocket of his jumpsuit. On reflex, he pulled it out and answered without looking.

“Yeah?”

“Hello. Who is this?”

“You’re the one who called me, asshole.”

“…Daryl?”

Daryl froze, his fingers gripping his phone so hard he swore he heard the casing creak. He recognized the voice…Shit on a fucking stick. 

“Daryl? Hello? Is that you?”

Shit. He needed to say something, didn’t he? Shit. Fuck. Son of a bitch! Daryl tried to get his brain working again, and found that his first instinct was to walk out of the garage as fast as he could, out back where all of the cars they had finished were parked. No one around here to hear him, or see him flustering.

“Um…Yeah. This is Daryl. Who’s this?”

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a groan. Smooth, Dixon. Real smooth.

“It’s Paul—Jesus. From the bar.”

“Oh yeah. Hey.”

“Hey,” Jesus said on the other end of the line. His voice had an airy quality to it, and Daryl could picture him smiling. “It’s good to hear from you.”

Daryl didn’t know what to say to that, so he just grunted.

“So, I take it that was you who called me the other day?”

“Don’t know what you mean.” Daryl shrugged. Silly, considering there was no one around, but it was just a reflex for him.

“Well, I got a weird call from this number a few days ago. I tried calling back, but this is the first time I’ve gotten through.”

“Must’ve been a butt-dial.”

“Must have been. Though you must have a pretty magical ass if it was able to randomly call my number.”

Daryl pulled the phone away from his ear the second he heard Jesus’ mirthful laugh. Fuck. Even when he wasn’t around, that little prick got into his fucking head. Why had he called this asshole? Should have just left well enough alone and written that night off. He would have forgotten about Jesus after a while, just like this guy would no doubt write him off of his mind.

“Daryl, I’m actually glad that you called. I was hoping that you would,” he gave out a short laugh. Almost sounded nervous. Daryl didn’t know what to say, so he just let Jesus’ words hang between them. “So…how are you?”

“ ‘M good. Just a…just workin’ right now. I work at Dale’s Body and Auto. Fixin’ up cars.” Daryl ran his palm over his face. He was ranting. He’s never ranted a day in his life. 

“Sounds fun.”

“Oh yeah. Changing transmission fluid for some asshole who doesn’t even know how to pop the hood on his Lexus is a real blast.”

Jesus laughed. Daryl flinched a little. Not too many people laughed at his sarcasm. Carol did, after she had gotten used to it, but everyone else just kind of rolled their eyes whenever he mouthed off.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. My uncle had a small place like that as well. He got a lot of small town people with these huge egos. Someone actually once asked him if he knew how to change the oil in a Mercedes.”

“Ain’t too hard once you make sure to mix in the gold bars and diamond encrusted shit.”

Jesus laughed again. This time Daryl felt a small tug at the corner of his lips.

“So, hey, um…” Jesus paused, and Daryl could hear something like a small smacking of lips. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“Nah. Been kinda busy.”

“Ok. Well do you think—”

“Daryl!”

Daryl looked over his shoulder and saw Dale standing on the far side of the building. The old man was waving at him, gesturing him to come over.

“Um, hey I gotta go.”

“Oh,” Jesus said. “Ok. Well, it was good to hear from you.”

“Yeah,” Daryl mumbled. 

“Will I get to hear from you again?”

That was a loaded question, whether Jesus realized it or not. Just like that night at the bar, he was giving Daryl the control to take things a little further. The only problem was that he didn’t know where to go from here. Daryl never took the lead in anything in his life. Always did what he was told, when he was told, and followed the leader. You get pushed behind everyone all of your life, you forget what it’s like to take a step without someone else showing you the way.

“I gotta go,” Daryl said again. “So…yeah. Take care of yourself.”

Daryl hung up the phone before he could hear Jesus say anything else. He let out a deep breath of air before turning his phone off and tucking it back into his breastpocket. Despite the confusion and frustration of the past week, it actually was kind of nice to hear from Jesus. And Jesus had been wanting to hear from him…Daryl had never had the feeling of being wanted before. It was different. Strange.

He walked down to where Dale was still waving him over.

“Important call?”

“Wasn’t nothing,” Daryl shook his head. “What do you want now?”

“Well, I was hoping that you would take the hint earlier and follow me, but no luck.”

“Just say what you want, man.”

Dale opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to change his mind the last minute. He shook his head and turned, this time gesturing Daryl to follow. The old man took him further out back, past the chain-link fence where they kept the old cars. Most of the shit back here didn’t work, but was still good for the occasional spare part. Dale couldn’t seem to throw anything away, so eventually, everything ended up back here, waiting to be used again. Daryl thought that maybe this was his way of keeping out of his sight. A payback for all of Daryl’s back-talk. He wouldn’t blame him.

Dale kept walking until they were almost to the end of the graveled lot. Out in the back was what everyone in the shop referred to as The Beast. A 1970’s Winnebago Chieftain. The old tin box had been a permanent resident at the shop for as long as he could remember. Even before he began working there, he would drive down the back roads past the shop and catch a glimpse of The Beast through the small grove of trees behind the shop. A dingy yellow—may have been eggshell white at one point—and tan monster lying dead in the auto graveyard. 

Daryl felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched a little from the contact. Dale withdrew his hand and took a small step back, looking from Daryl to the Winnebago.

“What’s all this about?” Daryl asked.

“This is what I need your help with.”

“Finally selling this old piece of shit for scraps?”

A look passed over Dale’s face. Just for a moment, he thought he saw Dale frown, but if he did he recovered from it quickly. He looked back to Daryl and gave him a tight-lipped smile, shaking his head. 

“Actually, I’ve been trying to fix it up. Get it working again.”

“This?” Daryl asked. “Shit, man. You’d have better luck tryin’ to raise the dead than getting this shit workin’ again.”

Dale kept that tight-lipped smile and nodded a little. Then he looked back to the Winnebago. He stared at it for a long time.

“What do you want to fix it for anyway?”

The old man took a breath, but kept his eyes on the vehicle. 

“I bought this piece of shit brand new back in 1973, just after Irma and I got married. When I first met her, she had been living the typical hippie, nomadic lifestyle. Always traveling from one place to another in someone’s car, working only when she needed the money. She said that she was saving up to buy herself a VW Bus, so she could have more room to sleep when she traveled, and maybe pick up a few more people along the way. She said she wanted to see the world—even mapped out cities and small towns she had heard about. I saved up for years, even putting off buying our first house, so we could afford this. Told her that if she wanted to travel, then she was going to do it like a queen…”

Dale wiped at the corner of his eye. Daryl pretended not to see it.

“We had wanted to go, but every year, things just kept coming off and it got put off. And every year, she would circle more towns on her map. When she got sick…” Dale couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence, and Daryl wasn’t going to make him. 

“After she passed, I didn’t think I would need it anymore. Most of the engine is busted now, and the interior needs serious work. Not to mention the rear axles haven’t been changed since 1981…but I’m determined to get it working again.”

Daryl nodded and looked over The Beast, and good lord was that thing nothing more than a brick on wheels. Cracked windshield, flat tires, no exhaust, barely anything left of an engine, and probably more mold than Daryl wished to think about inside of it. He probably would have been better off setting this thing on fire, because in all honesty, nothing short of divine intervention was going to get The Beast moving again.

“…So where do you want to start?” Daryl asked. 

Dale almost did a double take, but once he settled, he smiled at Daryl. It was the first real one he had ever received from the older man. He patted Daryl on the shoulder again and led him over to the shed where he had been keeping parts for The Beast that he had collected over the past couple of years. He and Daryl mapped out a plan for the vehicle, then Daryl set off to work.

***

Two hours later, Daryl was sweating like a whore in church in the hot Georgia sun. Rebuilding the engine from the small pieces that Dale had lying around was going to take some time, but Daryl felt that he was making good progress so far. Jim and Dale had already gotten a good portion of it done, but there would be a lot left just to get this son of a bitch to start. He’d cleaned the crankshaft, replaced the fan belt and the water pump. The radiator had a crack in it, though, and the alternator was worthless at this point. Daryl was smoking on the final end of his cigarette and making a note of the things that Dale would either need to order or scavenge, when the sound of a voice filled the air.

“Daryl Dixon, you’re needed at the front desk. Daryl Dixon to the front desk.”

Daryl’s head snapped up to the P.A. system where he’d heard Amy’s voice. It was odd getting a page from the office. This time of late afternoon, most people were picking up their cars or just coming in to set up their next appointments. He shrugged it off and dropped his cigarette to the ground. It was a shame to be interrupted right now, as he felt that he was on a roll, and his mind had been clear for the last few hours. But hell, it wouldn’t hurt to step inside and bask in the air conditioner for a few minutes. 

Wiping the sweat from the back of his neck, Daryl unzipped the top half of his jumpsuit and let it fall down at his waist. His green undershirt had a large patch of sweat on the chest, but there was nothing he could do for that short of taking off his shirt, and he wasn’t about to do that. There were grease and dirt stains all over his hands and arms, along with a couple of bruises and burn marks. Signs of a hard day, of a good day.

As Daryl was walking back to the main office, he noticed that while most of the cars in their lot were gone, there was a new one parked behind the garage. An old Jeep Grand Cherokee was parked out back and currently being inspected by Randall. Kid was newer to the garage, looking to make some extra money for the summer. Didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground and was shit at the job, but Dale was too nice to cut him loose. Instead he kept him on part-time doing grunt work like oil changes, cleaning parts, and checking cars in. Daryl didn’t like the kid, but as long as he didn’t get in his way he didn’t mind him.

Randall looked up as Daryl walked passed, and Daryl thought he saw the kid smirking at him. It was enough to make Daryl stop and turn. He stared the kid down, the smirk wavering a little under his gaze.

“What?” Daryl huffed.

“Nothin’.” Randall ducked his head back down and went back to looking the Jeep over.

He kept walking to the office, but he felt the kid’s eyes on him as he did. Little punk was going to get his teeth knocked in if he didn’t cut that shit out.

Walking through the office door, Daryl was hit hard by the blast of cold air coming from the air conditioner. The contrast of the cold air on his overheated, sweaty skin was enough to make him close his eyes, throw his head back and let out a moan.

“Um…Daryl?”

Daryl opened his eyes and looked over to Amy, sitting behind her small desk. The girl was biting down on her lower lip, looking like she was trying to hold back a smile. She nodded her head to the left, gesturing for Daryl to look over. When he did, he nearly had a damn heart attack. 

Standing in front of the desk with his arms crossed and a pleased smile on his smug face was Jesus. The man was a little more cleaned up than the last time Daryl saw him. His long hair was down, perfectly parted down the middle and full beard neatly trimmed. He was wearing a long-sleeved white button up shirt this time, though the garment still looked a little too large on him. It was a strange contrast to the dark cargo pants and muddy combat boots he wore and over his shoulder was a black messenger bag. Dressed up, but dressed down at the same time.

“Daryl,” Amy said after a moment’s silence. “Your friend Paul was looking for you.”

“We ain’t friends,” Daryl responded right away. He didn’t know what made him say it, though it was technically the truth. Jesus wasn’t his friend, just an annoying prick who kept getting under his skin.

“Ok, then.” Amy said, her eyes going a little wide as she turned her chair back to face Jesus. 

“So,” she said to Jesus. “You can just have a seat on one of the couches, and we’ll have someone work on your car as soon as we can. It may take a while, though.”

“I’ve got nowhere to be,” Jesus shrugged. His eyes went back to Daryl’s, and he held the contact.

Daryl found himself frozen again under Jesus’ gaze. Unable to move or even blink as the younger man stared him down, the corner of his lips going up just a fraction. As if by divine intervention, the office phone rang, giving Daryl the chance to break the spell the other man was holding on him. Amy wisely chose to turn her attention from the awkward situation to answer the phone. 

Despite the cool air flowing in the room, Daryl was finding himself becoming flustered very quickly. He could feel the heat rising from his chest, creeping up his neck and no doubt spreading across his cheeks. With narrowed eyes, he chanced a look at Jesus. The other man was still watching him, his blue eyes looking him up and down. Daryl suddenly felt very self-conscious, even more so than that night at the bar. At least then he had been more or less passable. Here, though, he was covered in grease, drenched in sweat, and no doubt smelling like diesel fuel. How the hell did this guy seem to show up whenever he looked and felt like shit? 

He could hear voices coming from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Randall out back by the Jeep talking with Axel. He couldn’t hear what the kid was saying, but he saw his eyes look over towards him every few seconds. All of these people looking at him—talking about him—had Daryl wanting to smash something, wanting to crawl back into the shadow where he belonged. Alone.

Amy looking up from her phone call to wink at Daryl was his breaking point. With his greasy hair covering his eyes, he shot her an annoyed look and made a beeline for the front door, barely missing bumping into Jesus on the way out. He just needed to get out of there, to breathe, before he smashed something and Dale finally kicked his ass out on the street. Daryl walked the short distance over the graveled parking lot to his truck, throwing open the door to look for his extra pack of cigarettes. No sooner did he light the thing did he hear a voice from behind him.

“Those things will kill you, you know.”

Daryl rolled his eyes and let out a little growl. 

“Why you followin’ me!?” He said it a little louder than he intended to, but Jesus didn’t so much as flinch. He watched Daryl curiously and shrugged.

“Just wanted to see where you were going.”

Daryl turned away from Jesus with his shoulders hunched up. He wanted to run away again, but there was really nowhere else for him to go. Shaking his head, he walked to the back of his truck and opened up the tail. He sat down on the end and stared at the ground, still nervously puffing on his cigarette. With his eyes to the ground, he could only hear Jesus approaching him until his boots came in his line of vision. Next thing he knew, he felt his truck dip slightly as the other man took a seat next to him.

Jesus didn’t say anything and kept a comfortable enough distance given the small space. Daryl leaned forward, resting the hand not holding the cigarette on his knee. The cigarette was burning down to the filter and the late afternoon sun was soaking deep into Daryl’s skin. He could feel sweat trickling down from his scalp to his neck. When he raised a hand to wipe it away, he saw Jesus watching him calmly, his feet swinging from the end of the truck bed.

“Man, what are you doin’ here?”

Jesus shrugged. “I’ve been meaning to get the car looked at. Brakes keep squealing and there was talk of the ball-joint needing to be replaced.”

“Came a long way for that,” Daryl huffed, throwing the butt of his cigarette to the ground.

“I may have an ulterior motive.”

Daryl tensed when he saw Jesus move quickly, but the other man was just reaching into his bag. He rummaged around a bit before he pulled out two smaller brown paper bags. Jesus set one in his own lap and held the other out for Daryl to take. With a nervous hand, and careful not to brush Jesus’ fingers, Daryl took the bag and opened it. 

“The hell is this?”

“That, my friend, is a black bean and corn burger.” Jesus smiled as he held out his own burger, if that giant monstrosity could be called such. 

“Who the hell puts that shit in a burger?”

“I do.” 

Jesus took a bite of his food and gestured at Daryl to try his own. The older man looked it over for a minute, narrowing his eyes at the giant beef patty and becoming suspicious of the bits of charred corn he saw sticking out. He could feel Jesus still watching him, waiting for him to try it, so Daryl gave in and took a small bite. It wasn’t what he expected. It was spicy, but the corn gave it a touch of sweetness. 

“So?” 

“’S not bad,” Daryl shrugged. 

Jesus practically beamed, and damn if his smile wasn’t blinding. “Thank you.”

“You make this?”

“I did. Though I shouldn’t take all the credit for it. It’s my friend Crystal’s recipe. She’s a cook at a gastropub downtown and she taught me how to make them.” Jesus cut himself off and ducked his head, taking another bite out of his burger.

“…Why?”

“Because I like to cook,” he shrugged.

“No, I mean…” Daryl let the sentence trail off. He couldn’t bring himself to ask why Jesus had specifically made this for him, why he had tracked him down here, or why he was even there at all.

The younger man seemed to know what he was thinking, though. The usual air of confidence that surrounded him seemed to have faded a little as he kept his eating his food and gave another small shrug. Those blue eyes looked to Daryl, though, as the corner of his lip turned upward.

“You said you hadn’t eaten lunch yet, so I figured you might be hungry…And maybe I just wanted to see you.”

Daryl’s face felt hot, but he didn’t think it was because of the sun. He turned and took another bite of his burger.

“Well, here I am.”

“Yeah…There you are.”

They spent the next twenty minutes eating in a comfortable silence, which Daryl found a bit odd considering Jesus’ previous forwardness. The man didn’t push him, though. He didn’t put his hands on Daryl like he had that night at the bar and didn’t try to make him flustered. Daryl could feel him watching him, though. Every now and again, he would peek from the corner of his eye and see Jesus looking at him, smiling like always.

When he finished his food, Daryl, licked his fingers, wiped them on his shirt, mumbled a quick thanks and jumped from his truck bed. He wasn’t too surprised when he heard the crunch of gravel coming up behind him as he headed back to the office. Amy was still on the phone when he came back inside. She looked up at the both of them, nodding to Daryl as he began to walk past, but she held the receiver away from her face as she acknowledged Jesus.

“Mr. Rovia? Axel needs to talk to you about your car. Daryl can lead you to the back.” She gave Daryl a bright smile, showing her teeth. Daryl couldn’t tell if she was fucking with him or not, but he didn’t get a good chance to tell. She looked away from Daryl and went back to her phone call.

Jesus gave Amy a tight smile and moved to follow Daryl. The older man turned and huffed, not waiting for Jesus to keep up with him. Once they were out into the back lot, he caught sight of Axel and Randall still looking over the Jeep, which he assumed was Jesus’ car. He pointed him in the general direction and kept walking to get back to The Beast.

“Where are you going?” Jesus called after him.

“Some of us gotta work for a livin’.”

Daryl left him with that and walked away, ignoring the pounding in his chest. He got back to the Winnebago and set about gathering all of his scattered tools. He tried to think of where he had left off on the work, but couldn’t quite remember. Shit…His thoughts were scattered and he couldn’t think of anything but the way he felt everyone watching him. Amy, Axel, Randall, that fucking prick Jesus… Everyone watching him.

Daryl cursed and threw his wrench towards the chain-link fence. He hated this bullshit. Work was the one place where he could clear his mind and just not have to think about anything at all. Now all he could think about was how everyone was probably staring at him, making all of their assumptions about him. It used to be that everyone would avoid him like the plague, speaking to him as little as possible. He wouldn’t say that he preferred it that way, but it beat having a bunch of assholes talking about him behind his back.

_“Aw, what’s wrong, baby brother? Worried that the other kids are gonna tease you?”_ Merle’s voice was mocking in his head. _“Why don’t you kick them high heels off and go knock that hippie’s ass down into the ground? You’d feel better then. Little queer don’t care about you. None of those little shits do. You’ll see. Soon enough they’ll wash their hands of ya. Leave you lyin’ in the dirt like a used rubber.”_

“You best shut the hell up.” Daryl growled, kicking at his tool box.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Daryl flinched at the sound of Jesus’ voice. The other man was standing a few feet away, watching Daryl curiously. 

“…You ain’t supposed to be back here.”

“No one stopped me,” Jesus shrugged. “Besides, the car is going to be a few hours. I need something to do to kill the time.” Blue eyes trailed Daryl up and down, making a chill go down his spine.

Daryl could still feel his heart pounding and breath starting to get heavy. All of that anxiety he’d been feeling the past week and a half kept rushing back, making him feel angry and stupid. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, feeling his heart race and his stomach flip whenever he thought about Jesus. It was stupid and pathetic and just _not_ him. Anger went through him, and unfortunately, when Daryl was angry, he lashed out.

He went up to Jesus, and for a moment, Jesus’ smirk faded just a little. Daryl got up close and pushed him back. It wasn’t too hard, but enough to make Jesus stumble. The younger man didn’t look upset, but he didn’t back off either. He stayed where he was, watching as Daryl curled his fists and his biceps tensed.

“What are you doin’ here!?” Daryl finally asked. “Why the hell did you come all this way? And don’t say it was for your car or a fuckin’ burger, cuz I’m tired of that bullshit.”

When Daryl took a step forward, Jesus raised his arm. For a second, Daryl thought that he had done it out of fear or some kind of self-defense, but the calm look on Jesus’ face made it seem like something else. Like Daryl was some kind of animal that he was trying to placate and keep from attacking.

“If I answer that, will you answer something for me?” Daryl paused, but nodded.

“You’re right. I didn’t come here just to get the car fixed or to bring you food.”

“No shit.”

“I came here,” he continued, “because I knew that it was probably the only way I could see you again.”

“The hell you talkin’ about?”

Jesus paused to take a deep breath. A light breeze blew behind him, blowing a few strands of his long hair in his face. Daryl felt the urge to tuck the strand behind his ear, to feel how soft it was again, but he pushed that feeling down.

“I knew that if I didn’t come here, then chances were I would probably never see you again, and I didn’t want that. It’s the same reason I followed you that night at the bar. I knew that if I didn’t make the first move, then you were never going to. Daryl, you are possibly the most closed off person I’ve ever met, but I like you and I want to get to know you more. I have no idea why you don’t believe that and I’m not going to force it out of you or spend all of my time pulling on your pigtails to get your attention. So if I’m wasting my time and you’re not at least a little bit interested, then just tell me…Something tells me that isn’t the case, though, because you would have just told me to fuck off already if it were.”

Daryl didn’t know what to say to that. He spent a minute just trying to let the words sink in as he let the tension slowly fade from his body. So Jesus actually wanted to get to know him. That had never happened to Daryl before. All of the people in his life—his brother, his so-called friends, even his group—were stuck with him by circumstance. His support group were like a family to him, but Daryl knows with certainty that under any other circumstance on earth, every single one of them would have never looked twice at him. Hell, it took two months before any of them even began to relax around him. And Rick…he was just Rick’s charity case at first. Rick Grimes was a man who needed to be a hero, who needed to hold everyone’s hand and take care of them. If he hadn’t found Daryl in the lowest moment of his life, then even Officer Friendly would have looked the other way. 

No one ever purposely sought him out. No one ever looked at him the way Jesus did; like he was the only person around.

“What…what did you want to ask me?”

“Why do you always run away?”

Daryl snorted and shrugged. “Fight or flight. Those are the only options when you get backed into a corner.”

“I’m not trying to back you into a corner, Daryl. If you want me to go, I will and that will be the end of it. You’ll never have to see me again. I’m giving you the choice. So you decide what you want to do.”

What did Daryl want to do? That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? Daryl wanted a lot of things. He wanted some damn peace and quiet, to not have his mind racing all the time. He wanted everyone to stop looking at him like he was some kind of freak. He wanted to be with his group, but to actually be a part of it, not pushed to the outside like he always was. He wanted to be left alone, but he wanted to actually be seen. He wanted Merle’s voice out of his head, but wanted his brother back, because deep down, he felt that his cruel voice was right. The only person to ever really care for him was Merle, and no matter how close he got to Rick, Carol, Glenn, Maggie or Michonne, eventually they would all move on from him. Because that is what everyone did. 

It would have been better for himself in the long run if he just told the prick to fuck off now. Be done with it and move on. Get back to his life the way it’s supposed to be. Like that night in the bar, though, Daryl can’t force himself to push Jesus away. Not when those tender eyes are looking only at him.

“At least make yourself useful and hand me that flathead if you’re going to stick around.”

Jesus laughed and shook his head, but picked it up all the same. Daryl let their fingers brush this time when he passed him the screwdriver. It wasn’t much, just a little bit of contact, but Jesus grinned, as if he knew exactly what it meant. Daryl was just glad at least one of them knew, because this whole situation just confused the hell out of him.

“So…” Jesus started when Daryl turned back to look at the Winnebago’s engine. “What kind of movies do you like?”

***

“How could you have gone your whole life without ever seeing _Dawn of the Dead_?”

Two hours later, with the sun starting to sink lower in the sky and the sweat rolling off of Daryl’s back, and the prick was still stuck on questions about movies. Somehow the discussion had moved from the films Daryl enjoyed, to ones Jesus had recommended, to ending up being berated for never seeing the so-called classics of cinema. He forgave him for never buying into the whole _Lord of the Rings_ franchise, but somehow Jesus couldn’t let go that Daryl had never watched a single George Romero movie. 

Typically Daryl liked silence when working, but that may have been because no one ever bothered to talk to him before when he was. Will Dixon always demanded silence whenever he was in his workshop. If Daryl or Merle made a sound louder than a mouse fart it usually led to a backhand slap. So he and Merle learned to work in silence, never even bothering to make the conversation with each other. For some reason, he didn’t mind it with Jesus. If anything, it made the time seem to go by faster.

“Don’t know what my life is missin’ without it,” Daryl shrugged.

“It’s only the greatest zombie-horror movie ever made. I know some people say that _Night of the Living Dead_ was better, but this one has gore, heart, and even some good satire about mass consumerism.”

“Whatever happened to horror movies just being about blood and guts? Why does everything have to have a theme?”

“Maybe so that we can actually feel like intellectuals after staring at a screen for two hours?” Jesus shrugged. “Who knows? People come up with all kinds of reasons to make themselves seem smarter.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Daryl snorted. 

“In all seriousness, though, you do need to see the _Living Dead_ series. We’re going to have to make a movie night of it. It could be our second date.”

Daryl tensed up at that, a flush creeping up all the way to his ears. “Second date?” He asked without turning around.

“We had lunch together today, so I figure that counts as our first.”

“Just because you brought me lunch don’t make this a date, prick.”

“Just keep telling yourself that,” Jesus said. Daryl didn’t need to look to know that the prick was smirking.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Carburetor is shot to hell,” Daryl sighed, pulling himself out from the engine. “That’s not gonna be an easy fix. Don’t know where the hell Dale’s gonna find a replacement on something this old.”

Daryl slammed the grill of the engine closed and went to find his notes for Dale. He could feel Jesus watching him again. It was a feeling he was slowly getting used to. Hell, he had to. Every time he turned around, those eyes were on him, watching and examining. Always trying to figure him out.

“So why does your boss want this thing repaired anyway?”

“Can’t say,” Daryl shrugged. “Said somethin’ bout his wife.”

Jesus shrugged, walking around to examine The Beast. Daryl let him alone and scribbled down his notes. All of the repairs and spare parts were starting to add up. Either Dale needed to be sitting on a pretty heavy load of cash or he was going to have to strip down every car within a ten mile radius if he wanted to get this piece of shit running again. 

A drip of sweat rolled down Daryl’s brow and almost into his eye. When he lifted his head to wipe it away, he noticed that the Winnebago’s door was open and Jesus was nowhere in sight. Cursing to himself, Daryl put his notes down and went to drag his ass out of the vehicle. When Daryl stepped into The Beast, he cringed at the stale air and smell of mold. Dale wasn’t kidding when he said that the interior needed some work.

The vinyl of the captain’s chair was mostly cracked and chipped away, exposing the yellow spongy material of the seat. A thick layer of dust covered the console, there were little mold spores on the wood paneling, the tiny sink in the kitchen area was yellow from years of lack of cleaning, and Daryl didn’t even want to guess what the hell had made a nest inside of the cabinets. There was something missing in all of the chaos, though, and that was Jesus.

“Where you at?” Daryl called.

“Back here,” Jesus answered, Daryl walked to the back of the Winnebago, where he had heard the voice coming from. The sliding door almost fell off as Daryl pulled it back. He managed to keep it in place, though, and stepped in to the modestly sized bedroom. May have been larger than it looked if it weren’t for the full bed laying in the middle of it. Jesus was on the left side of the room, looking at the picture frames hung against the wood paneling.

“Shouldn’t be in here,” Daryl said.

“I was curious,” Jesus said, still looking at the pictures. “I’ve never been in one of these before. I’ve always wanted to see what they looked like.”

“Ain’t much to look at,” Daryl huffed. “Even when they were new, these things were ugly as hell.”

Jesus laughed softly at that. “It takes a lot to impress you, I guess. Is this your boss?”

Daryl looked over at the picture Jesus was pointing to. It was an old photo, the color mostly faded with age and damage from the sunlight in the window. In it, he could make out The Beast, shiny and new. Standing in front of it were a couple. A young man in a pair of slacks and a white—may have been blue—button up shirt. He had his arm around a girl wearing a floor-length floral dress, bell sleeves handing off of her thin arms. There was a crown of flowers in her honey blond hair that ran down to her waist. She was hugging the man like he was a lifeline and the smile on her face was one of pure, unbelievable joy.

“Yeah,” Daryl nodded. “’S him and his wife, I guess.”

“Cute picture. They look so mismatched.”

“Seemed to work for ‘em,” Daryl shrugged. “Opposites attract and all that shit.”

Shit. He had done it again. He had opened his damn mouth and walked right into a trap. Jesus’ eyebrow raised in an intrigued, knowing look and there was mischief in his eyes when he turned to face Daryl. The older man’s face flushed. Daryl looked away, trying to find some kind of other focal point in the room as his hand wiped the back of his neck. Jesus stepped away from the picture and took two steps to sit on the corner of the bed. A soft plum of dust puffed into the air as he disrupted the sheets.

“Come ‘ere,” Jesus murmured, gesturing to the small space next to him on the bed.

“No thanks. I’m good,” Daryl said with a shake of his head.

Jesus laughed, a small, low laugh that showed his amusement. Daryl felt the tension rising in him, the want to leave, but the lack of will to actually do so. There was no fighting it when Jesus caught his wrist in a loose grip. Daryl focused his eyes on the hand, it was better than looking at Jesus’ eyes. He didn’t think he would be able to stand being caught under that gaze again. Not that this was much better, though. Jesus’ thumb was caressing his wrist, the skin calloused and leaving a scratched, tingling sensation that crawled up Daryl’s skin. 

Daryl let himself be pulled—because he was not going to admit to taking the first step—towards the bed. Jesus scooted almost to the edge so that Daryl could have as much space as he needed. He sat down, keeping his head down the entire time, eyes to the ground and dirty hair covering his face like a mask. Daryl didn’t know what the hell he was doing anymore. He didn’t even really want to try to figure it out. All he wanted was to get through this moment and not feel so vulnerable and lost.

It was hard to, though. Daryl had lived his life learning to shut off his emotions. Crying didn’t bring his mother back after the fire, and it made him a target for his father’s rage. Merle showed him how to toughen up, how to beat it all down until it couldn’t be felt anymore, until he really couldn’t feel anything anymore. Problem was, though, you spend so long being emotionally numb, you don’t remember what it’s like to feel anything. 

But Daryl could feel something right now. He could feel that fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach expanding, growing like a disease inside of him until he felt a weightlessness in his legs. He could feel his heart beat so hard in his chest that he thought he could actually hear it. He could feel Jesus’ hand slowly letting go of his wrist so that he could carefully hold his hand. Daryl could feel himself entwine their fingers and give a light squeeze, the other’s hand grounding him to the moment.

“I’m really glad you called,” Jesus whispered.

“…Yeah,” Daryl nodded. 

Fingers were touching him, moving the hair from covering his eyes to tuck behind his ear and taking away Daryl’s place to hide. The fingers were on his chin then, and Daryl let himself be turned. With eyes still down, he could see Jesus’ clean white shirt and his body turned completely to Daryl. The fingertips moved from the scruff of his chin up his jawline and to his cheek. Jesus tucked the other part of his hair behind his ear. With nowhere left to hide, Daryl looked up.

Jesus was closer to him now than he was before. He was looking at him softly, earnestly in a way that said _I see you_. Daryl hated him in that moment. He hated this stranger who kept following him, seeking him out and making him feel more exposed than he ever had in his life. He hated this bastard for pushing and pushing at Daryl’s walls, but not knocking them over completely. Because Jesus was giving him the choice, just as he did the night at the bar; fight or flight. Stay or go. Close that gap between them or get up and walk away from it once and for all.

Daryl’s mind didn’t even register what happened next. He moved forward and put his lips to Jesus. It was an awkward, quick peck on the lips, like he was eleven years old again and practicing kissing for the first time with his friend Tara. He recalled that neither one of them had really liked it back then. Jesus must have liked something, though, because as Daryl pulled back—face red as a tomato—he saw that the smug bastard was grinning ear to ear. 

“You are too damn cute,” Jesus said, shaking his head.

“Shut the hell up,” Daryl said. He pushed at Jesus’ shoulder, but the other man just caught his hand. Now they were holding on by both hands.

“Make me,” Jesus grinned.

Daryl knew what that meant. He knew how he was supposed to respond as well. Walked right into that one, he did. He leaned in for another quick peck, but Jesus used the opportunity to let go of his hands and wrap one arm around Daryl’s waist, keeping him there. Warm breath on his skin, the sound of heavy breathing in his ear, and the blood rushing to his head made Daryl dizzy. Jesus kissed at the corner of his lips, his jawline, his cheekbone, every place that he could reach. His lips were soft against Daryl’s sweaty skin. Daryl felt his own hand move to touch Jesus, resting on his thigh and lightly squeezing, as if to ground himself. His grip turned almost crushing, though, when Jesus started nibbling at his earlobe. 

A small moan made its way from him and Daryl bit his lip out of embarrassment. It sparked something in Jesus, though, because the man pulled Daryl closer to him so that they were chest to chest. In the back of his mind, Daryl was worried about his dirty jumpsuit and undershirt staining Jesus’ pristine shirt, but that thought went out the window when Jesus kissed him. It was warm and soft and so tender that Daryl felt himself even relaxing under it, his eyes slipping closed. Jesus’ free hand cupped his cheek and Daryl began to respond to the kiss, mimicking Jesus’ movements.

They kissed lazily for a little while. Jesus’ fingers would go into Daryl’s hair, scratching his scalp while his other hand caressed Daryl’s waist. Daryl kept his hand on Jesus’ thigh, not really sure what to do with it other than occasionally squeezing. When Jesus swiped his tongue and Daryl parted his lips. The kissing grew deeper from there. Moans, heavy breathing, and small grunts all hit Daryl’s ears, though he couldn’t begin to tell which of them it was coming from. The air in the RV was becoming warmer and thicker, almost feeling suffocating, but Daryl couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Jesus was leaning Daryl back to lay against the mattress.

Without even realizing it, Daryl had somehow found himself being maneuvered to lying on his back, Jesus leaning on one elbow above him, but still somehow not breaking their kiss. From this angle, Jesus was able to kiss him deeper. The stale smell of the sheets was mixed with Jesus’ own scent, filling Daryl’s nostrils. His hands were twitching, desperate to move, but not sure exactly what to do. Almost as if he could sense Daryl’s apprehension, Jesus smiled into their kiss and reached to grab Daryl’s hand. He reached around himself to put the hand on his lower back before touching Daryl again. Daryl kept up with the kiss—though Jesus seemed determine to steal all of his oxygen—and moved his hand in a small circle over Jesus’ back. The fabric of his shirt moved and bunched in his fingers.

He could feel the younger man smiling, heard his small laugh when he pulled back from the kiss. A small sound escaped from Daryl. He’d like to believe that it was just him trying to regain oxygen. The fact that it sounded like a whimper was just coincidence. Jesus was quick to put his lips back on him, though. He kissed over the mole on his mouth, his cheekbone, his jaw, down to his neck. Daryl nearly whined at the feeling of those lips and teeth nipping at his pulse-point. The coarse hair of Jesus’ beard scratched at his red skin, leaving tiny marks in their wake. His hot, panting breath was all that Daryl could hear, and it sent shivers down his spine.

Daryl didn’t think twice about parting his legs when he felt Jesus’ knee nudging them. He rolled over a bit so that he was leaning over Daryl now, their chests touching as Jesus kept kissing his neck, practically worshiping it. He kept his own hand busy touching Jesus’ back, but he flinched when he felt Jesus’ shirt move and he touched the bare skin. His eyes opened a little at the shock, but all he saw was Jesus’ hair. The other man didn’t seem too concerned about being touched, too preoccupied he was in kissing Daryl’s dirty, sweaty skin.

Daryl bit his lip and tried to steady himself as he laid his palm against the skin of Jesus’ back. The first thought he had was that the skin was so smooth, no sign of marks or scars that he could feel. There wasn’t a thing wrong on the man. Everything was soft and smooth and warm and…pristine. Daryl worried for a moment if he should even be touching him at all. Worried that the grease and dirt on his hands was going to get all over his nice white shirt, or that his calloused, cut up fingers were going to scratch into Jesus’ skin and leave an ugly mark on him. Daryl didn’t want that. Didn’t want to ruin any part of him.

“Daryl,” he heard Jesus say his name. The lips on his neck stopped moving. 

Despite the muggy air in the RV, his skin felt damp and cool when Jesus pulled back. The long strands of his hair fell down over his shoulders, making a curtain around them. A few of the strands tickled Daryl’s skin, so he tried to blow them away. Jesus was looking at him again. Looking so deep into his eyes that Daryl thought he could see right into him. The man must have been a hypnotist in a past life, because every time he gave him that look, the rest of the world around him seemed to melt away.

“Daryl, are you ok?”

“‘M fine.”

“Your hand is shaking.”

He didn’t even realize it, but when he pulled his hand back to look, he could see the small tremors of his fingers. Embarrassed, he balled his hand into a fist and laid it down by his side. Jesus saw it, though. The younger man pulled himself back to sit up on the bed, giving Daryl a hand to let him up as well. There was a streak of dirt on Jesus’ cheek from where he had touched Daryl. The older man felt his jaw set at the sight of it. His free hand balled up so tightly that he could feel his blunt nails dig into his palm. His shoulder flinched involuntarily when he felt Jesus’ fingertips brush the skin.

“…I’m sorry,” Jesus said after a pregnant pause.

Daryl’s brows furrowed in confusion. With his chin down, he looked out of the corner of his eye at Jesus. The other man was looking down at his lap. He wasn’t smiling anymore. 

“What for?”

“I,” he paused again to take a deep breath. “I know I can come on a little strong sometimes. If…if I made you uncomfortable, then I am very sorry.”

“Nah,” Daryl shook his head. “It ain’t you. It’s…” he let the thought trail off, not quite sure how he wanted to finish it. “It ain’t you.”

“Still, I’m sorry if I—”

“I said it wasn’t you, ok?” Daryl snapped. “You didn’t do anythin’ wrong. So quit apologizin’, asshole.”

Jesus’ head was still down, but Daryl could hear a quiet laugh as the other man shook his head. His hand reached forward and patted Daryl’s knee lightly. The older man managed not to flinch this time. 

“Ok.”

With the moment broken, both men began to feel the effect of the stale, warm air in the Winnebago. Daryl’s skin was starting to feel sticky from the heat and sweat, and he could see little beads of sweat forming at Jesus’ hairline. Daryl got off of the bed and gestured for Jesus to follow. Stepping out of the Winnebago wasn’t much better, but at least the air was fresher. A warm breeze swept through the air, blowing at Jesus’ hair. A few strands flew into Daryl’s face, so he pushed the other man back, managing to knock Jesus against the RV. The younger man just laughed good-naturedly and kicked a foot at Daryl.

“Mr. Rovia, your car is ready. Mr. Rovia, please come to the front desk.”

Both men turned their heads towards the speaker. Daryl felt his shoulders slump at the announcement. Didn’t know why he felt disappointed, though. The shop would be closing soon, and he was behind on what he wanted to do with The Beast. If anything, he should be relieved that he could get back to work without this prick distracting him. One look at Jesus, though, and Daryl could see that he felt the same.

“Guess that’s you,” Daryl said, looking around at nothing in particular.

“Yeah,” Jesus sighed. “Didn’t think they’d be done this early. You guys are quick.”

“Well, either your car wasn’t that bad or Axel and Randall fucked it all up and you’ll be back in a month.”

Jesus laughed. “For Crystal’s sake, I hope it’s the former and not the latter.”

“Crystal?”

“My friend. It’s her car. She’s been meaning to get it fixed for a while, but hasn’t had the time. Lucky for her, I knew a place.” Jesus grinned at Daryl, and damn if he couldn’t actually see the twinkle of mischief in the bastard’s eye.

“…Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

All of Daryl’s disappointment slowly began to seep out of his system and was replaced by annoyance. He couldn’t believe that he had been so gullible, so stupid to fall for this guy’s bullshit again. Jesus had his hands up, palms facing Daryl in a kind of mock surrender. 

“Do you ever tell the damn truth, or is everything comin’ out of your mouth a damn lie?” 

Daryl didn’t want to hear the answer, so he turned to stomp away, his foot kicking at the dirt. A hand was on his bicep before he took two step. Jesus turned him to face him, but Daryl didn’t even want to look at him. His jaw was set tight and muscles so tense that he felt like a bowstring about to snap. 

“Daryl, stop. I already told you that I didn’t come here to get the car fixed, but to see you. It doesn’t matter whose car it is, and you know that, so stop trying to find an excuse just to be mad so that you can run off again.”

Is that what he thought Daryl was doing? Shit, _was_ that what Daryl was doing? Was that what he’d been doing this whole time… Daryl didn’t know, didn’t want to know, and didn’t want some lying asshole to be the one telling him. He didn’t know Daryl. He had no right to try to get inside Daryl’s head.

So Daryl did what he always did. He chose flight. Shaking Jesus’ hand off of him he turned to storm off stopping only to mutter, “Go get your damn car and leave me be.”

Daryl didn’t look back to see, but he could feel the eyes on him again. Watching and waiting. He felt them for a long time, until he heard the crunch of Jesus’ boots against the gravel slowly fade away. And just like that, another one bites the dust. Another name to add in the long list of people in his life who walk away and move on. It didn’t bother him, he swore it didn’t. At this point, he expected nothing less.

The metal of The Beast made a loud ding when Daryl threw a wrench at the side. A small dent was left in its wake, but it didn’t stand out from the rest of the damage on this old piece of shit. 

“Just so you know, if you do that again, the damage is coming out of your pay.”

Daryl’s head snapped at the sound of the voice coming out of nowhere. When he didn’t see anyone around, he walked back to the front of the Winnebago to get an eyeful of Dale’s ugly yellow Hawaiian shirt. The old man was bent over, arms in the engine. On the tool box next to him was Daryl’s notepad.

“Well, you’re right,” Dale said, eyes still looking into the engine. “The carburetor is dead. Alternator is a gonner as well, but that’s not too surprising…I’m going to have to call in a few favors for this one.”

“How long you been back ‘ere?” Daryl asked, afraid and embarrassed of what the old man had heard.

“Not long,” Dale shrugged. Daryl searched him, but the man’s expression gave away nothing. No judgment of any kind, which was strange for him. “Just wanted to see how it was going out here. Looks like you’ve made some good progress so far. Better than what Jim had. He swore that the whole damn thing was going to have to go.”

“Nah. Think some of it can be saved. Not much, but enough.”

“That’s good to know,” Dale nodded. The old man straightened back and slowly closed the grill for the engine. His hands were covered in grease, more than just a few minutes’ worth. Daryl clenched his fist, but reached into his back pocket to give Dale his red rag. 

“Thanks,” Dale said. He looked over The Beast, seemingly observing it. “You did good work today, Daryl. I’m impressed.”

“Wasn’t much,” Daryl shrugged. 

“Don’t sell yourself so short. You’re good at what you do, and I’m lucky to have you here.”

Not knowing what to say, Daryl just nodded and looked away. Not wanting to just stand around, he started to pace and collect his scattered tools, throwing them back into the box without any real care. 

“You know, it occurs to me that I never answered your question earlier. About why I want to get this old thing running again.”

“You don’t have to,” Daryl shrugged. 

“I think I should, though,” Dale said. There was a seriousness to his voice, one that demanded attention. Daryl stopped what he was doing at turned to face Dale. The old man was looking straight into his eyes, like what he had to say was the most important thing. Daryl shifted under the gaze and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Irma never let go of that map she had. She had it tucked away for years and years, only bringing it out to circle a new town or attraction she wanted to visit. When the doctors said that the chemo wasn’t working anymore, she didn’t get upset. Instead, she just pulled out that map. We were going to finally take that trip. I was finally going to take the time to take her across the country like she’d always wanted…Then she got too sick to travel, and well…you see what I’ve let happen to it since then.”

Daryl didn’t say anything. He just kept his head down, feeling like Dale wasn’t done just yet.

“You can live to be a hundred, but still have a life wasted if you have any regrets. I doubt I’m going to make it that far, but I don’t want to regret never keeping my promise and seeing the world with Irma. Life’s too short to not go after the things you want.”

Daryl wasn’t looking, but he could feel Dale’s eyes boring holes into him. He’d never felt so small in his whole life as he did under that man’s knowing eyes. Daryl cleared his throat, trying to find the right words to say.

“I’ll uh…I’ll try to get it fixed for you.”

“I appreciate that, Daryl. You’re a good man.” 

Daryl lifted his head at that to see that Dale had a small smile playing on his lips. No one had ever said that to him before.

“But, it doesn’t all need to be done now. I think you’ve done enough for today. Why don’t you call it a day and head out? I’m sure you have better things to be doing than sticking around here.”

He was about to shake his head, to tell Dale that he had nowhere better to be, but something stopped him. What did Daryl want to do?

“Thanks.”

“Have a good night, Daryl. I’ll see you first thing in the morning. We’ll talk about putting you on fulltime then.”

Daryl gave Dale a nod and turned quickly on his heels. If his step was a little faster than need be, he didn’t pay it any mind. It was kind of hard to when he could feel his heart starting to race the closer he got to the office building. The Jeep wasn’t in the back anymore and he felt his stomach flop, but kept walking. He walked straight past Axel, Randall, and Oscar, ignoring their stares and into the office. It was empty, save for Amy. She looked up at Daryl, and with a smirk, she gestured her head towards the front door. He gave her a nod and kept walking.

Going out the front door, he saw Jesus throwing his bag into the backseat of the car and making his way to the driver’s door. Daryl was about to take a step forward, but when he tried, he felt his legs freeze. The blood in his veins was rushing through him, making his body too warm and his heart pound like a damn hammer. Jesus was opening the door and getting into the car now, but Daryl still felt like he was frozen in fear.

This was the moment of truth. What did he want? What was he going to do? Fight or flight.

“Stop being such a pussy,” Daryl grumbled to himself.

Choosing fight, Daryl took a step forward just as he heard the Jeep start.

“Hey,” he called. “Hold up.”

Jesus heard him. The younger man turned his head and actually seemed surprised to see Daryl coming up to him. He didn’t turn off the car, but he rolled his window down.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Daryl said again. It sounded stupid to his ears, though, and he squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. Shit…Fuck this was hard. Even worse than that damn phone call. There was no easy out of this one, though.

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah,” Daryl nodded. Fists clenched, heart pounding and ears burning, Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat. “Hey uh…Do you…Are you doin’ anythin’ tonight?”

Jesus’ eyes went wide at the question. The way the light hit them made them look so damn big and blue that Daryl couldn’t look away. Even when they softened on him and looked to him in the way only Jesus did, Daryl didn’t look away or try to hide from it.

“For you, I’m completely free.”

Jesus grinned at him, flashing bright white teeth and small dimples. A smile that looked so damn happy with something so small. Daryl smiled too, and for once, his mind seemed at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> No smut yet, sorry. With a guy like Daryl, though, you've got to work up to it. Thanks for sticking with me! I'll try to write a proper date for them and hopefully a less moody Daryl next time. We could all use it after that finale.


End file.
